


celebrate me home

by suddenlyshowtunes



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, College AU, Contemporary AU, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holiday, Slow Burn, here ya go, i cannot get enough of pierretasha so, its just hallmark but war and peace themed ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suddenlyshowtunes/pseuds/suddenlyshowtunes
Summary: it's december, and all natasaha wants is a quiet christmas after a particularly difficult year. plans change, however, when her estranged best friend pierre bezukhov returns to moscow for the holidays. as their relationship unexpectedly grows deeper than she anticipated, natasha must be willing to open her heart to love, even if it means getting hurt again.
Relationships: Marya "Mary" Nikolaevna Bolkonskaya/Nikolai Ilyitch Rostov, Pyotr "Pierre" Kirillovich Bezukhov/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	celebrate me home

**Author's Note:**

> hi :) thanks for taking a minute to read my trash fanfic. it's my first on this site & for war and peace. this chapter serves as a little prologue for the rest of the story and is directly based on both book 9 of war & peace and episode 5 of the bbc adaption. i promise the rest of the story is much less by the book, but i did want to include a little nod to the original work and an introduction for anyone unfamiliar with the book's plot. enjoy!

The last time Natasha saw Pierre, it was a sleepy winter afternoon.

The air was unusually warm for early December, its humid smell a warning of an incoming storm. Natasha didn’t mind all too much. She and Pierre had planned to go Christmas shopping together, but if she was being honest, she was glad to call and make a change of plans. Instead, the cloudy grey sky seemed to provide the perfect excuse to stay in and do nothing all evening.

Pierre brought two thermoses of hot tea, a book, and some extra blankets. They joked that their favorite activity together was having a picnic, although they’d never once had a ‘real’ one. All you really needed for a picnic, Natasha justified, was a blanket on the ground and a cup of tea. They sat in their usual spots on the floor: Pierre, back against the foot of her bed with his book in hand, and Natasha, leaning against the opposite wall. Between them, a large pile of decorative Christmas lights for Natasha to untangle.

The radio was tuned on the holiday jazz station. Natasha found herself singing along quietly, harmonizing with the melody of the trumpets. It’d been a while since she sang, and even longer since she’d sang jazz. It was a genre she used to love for its spontaneity, but now she appreciated its honesty. There was no faking jazz, no way to pretend. Natasha pulled at the string of lights, and absently glanced across the room. Pierre was watching her over his book, a surprised smile on his lips. She blushed a little, stopping mid-chorus; she’d almost forgotten he could hear her.

“You’re singing again,” he said gently.

“I’m learning,” she explained sheepishly, as by way of excuse. It was true, though. Recently, when she was visiting home, she would go to the piano and try to recall the words of the songs she’d used to play. After a long period of silence, the notes felt unfamiliar in her throat, but the feeling was growing on her.

“You’re already very good, you know,” Pierre noted, somewhat distantly. “I wish you would sing more often.”

Natasha smiled halfheartedly. Her fingers fiddled with a stubborn knot. “Thanks. I hadn't felt like trying in a while.”

“Well. This is a start, isn’t it?”

He looked at her expectantly, and Natasha nodded, although she wasn’t sure. Her recovery felt, if anything, like a series of false starts. She would have a day like today where she felt in herself a familiar flicker of her old life. And then the next day, she couldn’t manage to do anything but lie in bed, telling herself she was ruined for good. To betray the person she was supposed to love the most, especially for the likes of Anatole Kuragin? Natasha didn’t know how forgiveness applied to her story. “Sometimes,” she admitted softly, “I think it’s wrong that I can still sing. With what I did to Andrei–”

“You aren’t the only one responsible for what happened, Natasha. Andrei should have known not to leave you alone for a year without a good reason. And how could you have known Kuragin’s motives?”

“But I did know elopement was a bad idea. I knew it was wrong, and I still tried to do it, and ruined my family’s reputation in the meantime,” she replied sharply.

“It was one mistake. Your entire life you’ve been a light to everyone you’ve ever met, especially me. Just _one_ mistake.” Pierre closed his book, bringing it to his broad chest as if it were going to protect him. His eyes strayed from hers to the cup of tea at his side. “I mean, look at yourself, and look at me. If there’s anyone here who’s unworthy, it’s me.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed. “Unworthy?”

“I wanted my whole life to be good, to help other people. But here I am, in what should be the prime of my life, and I’m a fat, drunken disappointment who’s done nothing with his life.”

“That’s not true,” she argued, putting aside the pile of lights and moving closer to sit before him. “That’s not true and you know it.”

Pierre looked at her, grey-blue eyes doubtful. She breathed in deeply, breath catching in her chest. “If you hadn’t been here for me, God knows what could have happened to me. I’ve never had anyone be as kind to me as you have.”

“That’s only because I–”

He paused, looked down at the book in his lap. Natasha shook her head, confused at how he could see himself as anything but. He was the closest thing to an angel she had. He’d saved her life. She laid a hand on his knee gingerly, eyes tearful, but face stern. “Look at me, Pierre. No one is as kind as you. No one understands me like you. You are the dearest friend I have ever had.”

Pierre exhaled. “Natasha. If you knew how _much-_ ”

Again, he cut himself off, but something flashed in his eyes. He pulled away – she hadn’t even noticed they had leaned so close together – and made to stand. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?” Natasha asked, standing with him.

Pierre was silent for a moment. “I’m… leaving Moscow for a while.”

The air around them grew cold.

“Leaving?”

“For.. for France. I leave two days from today. There’s… a friend, who lives in Paris. They offered to help me get my life back on track. To do something worthwhile. And I’ve decided to accept.”

Natasha opened her mouth to speak, but the words would not come out. Everything that had happened during his visit up until a moment ago seemed normal. Had she missed something huge here? Meanwhile, Pierre had begun to pick up his things, withdrawn and awkward. “I think… I may have stayed a little too long. I should have been packing today, anyway.”

Natasha watched him, hugging herself and trying to make sense of this bombshell, but even by the time she’d followed him out to the parking lot of her complex, she was just as bewildered as before. Thunder rumbled though the sky, but it was light enough that lightning didn’t yet show through the clouds.

Natasha found her tongue as he opened the driver’s seat door. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a long time. I have to get away from here for a while.”

“But why are you going?” she finally challenged, her voice raised but wavering with emotion. _Because of me?_ “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Pierre turned to her, and with surprise she noticed the tears in his eyes. “Because,” he said softly, taking her hand in both of his and kissing it gently.

 _This is his goodbye,_ she realized with dread. She wiped her eyes with her free hand impatiently. “No, Pierre, you have to tell me why!”

He let go of her hand with an undecipherable kind of look that made her half-wish the complex world of his mind was simple and plain as she imagined her own. Natasha didn’t watch when the slid into the car. She didn’t turn to see him drive away.

It wasn’t until she found his book among the discarded pile of lights that she let herself cry.


End file.
